


Sheltered Hearts

by shenkai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenkai/pseuds/shenkai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is just starting 6th yr. He is having some regrets about his role in his godfather's death. He seeks to learn Occlumency through private lessons with his previous tutor and finds more of a motivation to shield his mind from everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting up the Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Well, this is not my first Harry Potter fic, but it is the first I am publishing online, since it is the only one I have typed up thus far. It is incomplete, I do hope to update it regularly, but life is also hectic so Updates will be when I am able. As such, I have no beta-reader, so if there are problems feel free to email me. I also like reviews and critiques, as they do help with guiding the development of new chapters.  
> There is no real Snarry sex until Harry is of age in the wizarding world _(that does not stop the very graphic fantasy/wet dream/wank)_  
>   
> 
> Major Pairing: Snarry  
> Other Pairings: APWBD/TMR, APWBD/HS, APWBD/AM, EP/TMR, CW/OC, canon pairings  
> Spoilers: Takes place after Order of the Phoenix, during Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows (I have most of the DH portion done, but am still working on the HBP) I do try to stick to canon (books) as much as possible – the contents fits in the canon, very little AR.

_Valentine's Day, 1948 – Hogsmeade Village_

Albus Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, entered the side street to visit his brother at the Hog's Head Tavern, as was his usual custom when the rest of the students had time to visit the village. He was disguised; his telltale red hair and beard were hidden behind a purple balaclava, the purple matching his winter cloak. Both of which complimented his lilac robes quite nicely. None of this could be seen, however, since he had made himself invisible, but he liked to look nice all the same.

A girl, dressed in the deepest green travelling cloak he had ever seen, nearly ran into him as she skittishly made her way down the side street. Her pallid face came visible as her hood was knocked down, she had collided with the barrel he was about to sidestep himself. She looked around, haunted black eyes and a rather long sheath of black hair, she was almost vampiric, and in a very attractive way. Were he attracted to the fairer sex, she might have turned his head, as it was he was startled to realize that she was one of his students. Normally, she wore an almost sour expression, no doubt exaggerated by her hooked nose and stern eyebrows, but now, even with the obvious fear in her eyes, she seemed almost happy. She drew her hood back on and emboldened by her apparent anonymity, she continued with sure steps to the Hog's Head, not knowing that she was being followed.

He saw her immediately approach a table in the far back corner occupied by a man who seemed to be sulking over a glass of fire whiskey.

"What did Professor Dippet say?" she asked concern evident in her voice. She was standing next to him, combing his brown fringe from his forehead with her fingers.

He looked up and his face was a bit gaunter than Albus had remembered it being, though he was still quite handsome. His chocolate eyes had been hardened, but gave him a rather arrogant aura, which was just the way Albus liked his men. These orbs flickered from looking at the girl to looking at the exact spot where he stood. The boy frowned for the tiniest fraction of a second before he turned on a charming smile and looked back to the girl. "Professor Dippet would love to offer me the job, but as he is retiring at the end of the year, he felt it would be better if I apply with the new Head."

She casually brushed the fringe from his forehead, tucking the honeyed brown locks behind his ear. "So you'll apply once the new Head has been appointed, and you'll be the most handsome professor at Hogwarts."

He caught her hand. "These walls have ears. I've got a room at the Three Broomsticks. I'm going to be travelling for a while, learn some more, so come and give your betrothed a proper send off."

 

_Tuesday, September 1st, 1971_

Albus cursed as he sat up in bed, glaring accusatorily at his watch, then at the scraggily, long blond hair of the naked man sleeping peacefully next to him. A well-muscled arm was around his waist, and he felt that his leg was trapped between very powerful thighs. At eleven o'clock, he would officially be late and have to Apparate, use the Floo, or ride the Knight Bus to beat the students to school, but then there would be no chaperone on the train. Still, it was only eight o'clock, and he had a little time to be a hedonistic man before he had to become a Professor and Headmaster once again. "Alastor," Albus whispered in a honeyed, yet urgent, tone as he reached out with long, slender fingers to brush the unruly hair from his lover's eyes.

"I thought you'd never wake up," Alastor growled and soon he was giving his lover a proper good bye.

 

Albus watched from the anonymity of the conductor's car as the platform filled with students and their families. A dark pair seemed to isolate themselves from the rest, almost as if they were trying to do something covert. The boy was dressed in very old Hogwarts robes and was covertly looking at a Muggle family at the other end of the platform. Older now, he could not help but see that the mother of this boy was the same woman whom Tom Riddle had called his betrothed.

He searched his mind for her name. It was something very Muggle. _Eileen?_ The family name escaped him and he was suddenly eager to be back in his office. He was not sure he was ready for Tom Riddle's son to enter Hogwarts, especially if he was like his father. Given the state of the world, and Riddle's rising army, he knew that if the boy were indeed Riddle's son, he would keep a very close eye on him.

 

At the sorting, the boy was revealed as Severus Snape, and Albus, for the first time ever, wished he could rush through the opening feast and return to his private library. He welcomed everyone, started the feast, gave the usual start of term notices and had to endure a nightcap after with Horace Slughorn grumbling about young Sirius Black being improperly sorted. "And what is the meaning behind planting that giant monster of a tree on the grounds, Albus? No one is going to heed your warning until someone gets hurt. Mark my words; someone is going to get seriously hurt by that tree."

Albus got up from his desk, crossing over to Fawkes's perch gently stroking the newly reborn chick. "I have my reasons for the tree, and there is nothing I can do about Black. I've had a rather long day, and would really like to turn in."

Horace drained the last of the mead from his glass before he stood and strode over to the door, sighing as he went. "And, alas, I am no Alastor Moody," he said, kissing Albus. He felt no return of the gesture or the sentiment behind it and frowned. "Sorry, old chap, but I had to try. I do miss the fun times we used to share – before Tom."

Albus plucked a stray feather from the ashes. It was a gold-tipped, purple plume from the phoenix's crest left after the burning. He pressed it to Horace's palm. "You, my friend, were seduced by the glamour and charm, yet you did not allow him to use that to try to influence you. I am afraid that you were the better man, as far as the issue of Tom Riddle is concerned, even if I could not see it at the time. He did not test or tempt me then, and I do regret that I let him separate us the way he did. Despite all I said at the time, I did love you, Horace."

The potions master nodded. "And now you love Alastor." He closed his hand around the feather and the fingers that pressed it to his palm, letting the fingers casually slide from his grip as he left the room, leaving the Head alone to think about Tom.

He thumbed through the fourth volume of _A Wizarding Genealogy_ to the page that showed the Prince family. At the very end, it listed Eileen Prince joined to Tobias Snape. It also showed her joined to an unknown wizard, from which branched the line of Severus Hadrian Demetrius Marvolo Snape. His fingers underlined the Marvolo in the boy's name, and it was as if he highlighted it in the rest of the family tree. Her great-great-grandfather was named Demetrius Marvolo Prince. As Eileen was the very last Prince, it had now become extinct in the male line, and young Severus would be the start of his own line, since his father was unknown.

 

_Sunday, September 1st,1991_

"Enter," Albus called, rising from his desk dressed in his favorite teal dressing gown to greet his late night visitor.

A fairly young wizard, around thirty or so years in age, entered. His long, thick hair hung to frame his face in shiny black curtains that barely kissed his shoulders and he moved. His long, black robes billowed around him as he glided with an almost careless grace towards the Headmaster's desk. It had been twenty years since he had first entered the school and still Severus Snape was a mystery to the aged Headmaster.

The younger wizard bowed before speaking. "It has been put in place, and I've just come from escorting Quirrell back to his office. Professor McGonagall is overseeing the rest." He paused, as if deciding if he wanted to continue. "There is something odd about Quirrell."

Albus smiled and nodded. "I am afraid that a year abroad can change people, and to tangle with vampires probably made it even worse. The Dark Arts, some forget, do require a bit of respect and are a little more volatile when encountered outside a heavily warded classroom. I want you to keep a discreet eye on him, in future, but right now I would rather talk to you about young Mr. Potter." Albus was now standing next to Severus by the fire.

Self-consciously, Severus moved a bit away from the Head, not liking people to get too close. His need for personal space was greater than most, given his childhood and the taunts he had received at Hogwarts from Potter and his band of marauders. "Potter? What does he have to do with me?" Severus asked.

Albus smiled again, "He has his mother's eyes."

"I noticed. He is a bit on the twitchy side, or he was trying to draw attention to that scar on his head."

Albus narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Severus backed away once again, looking casually at the gadgets on the desk. "During the feast, he was looking around at the sights of the room, and then flinched, pressing a hand to his scar like it hurt. I can only assume he spoke to Percy Weasley about it, as he leaned in to speak with him shortly thereafter."

Albus's brow furrowed, thinking, lost in his own thoughts. Severus sighed, rolling his eyes as he returned his gaze to the preoccupied Head. "I'll take my leave of you now, Sir, and I will keep an eye on Quirrell. There is something sinister about him, and I can't figure out what it is. He causes my infestation to burn."


	2. Off to a Record Start

_Sunday, September 1st, 1996_

Harry entered the start of term feast hurt and upset, and more so because it had been Snape to witness his disgrace. As much as he blamed himself and Severus for the death of Sirius Black, his godfather, last year, he knew that the potions master had been trying to help and that he, Harry, wanted to know Occlumency now more than ever. He could not let Voldemort use his friends like that again, and Severus was the only one who could help him. He frowned, squeezing himself on the bench between Ron and Hermione. _When had he started thinking about the Professor as Severus?_

It had been weird hearing that Professor Snape had finally succeeded in gaining the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. He tried to allow himself to hope that things would be different now that he was teaching a class that he, Harry, was good at. He also knew the perverse pleasure that the professor got out of torturing students, so he guessed that nothing would change. He considered that perhaps things would get worse. Potions did not involve using magic to hex people.

 

Losing house points before the end of the feast and now detention after the first class on the first day of lessons, Snape was right – it probably was a record. Classes were tougher than they had been before as well. Professor Slughorn had been thrilled when he had shown up to potions, and after the success of the potion he brewed, he found he was rather intrigued by the previous owner of his _Advanced Potion Making_ book. The effeminate handwriting brought to Harry's mind the image of a young, good looking wizard with aristocratic features, like Malfoy, only darker. He could envision the young wizard with black hair and eyes, an aura of mystery would surround him as well. He would be graceful, without trying, and his robes would billow around him as he glided through the halls. If the made up spells that littered the book as well as the modified recipes were any indication, this Prince of Potions would also be head of his class, like Hermione only more fun. He had already begun to commit to memory some of the charms in the book. The first, or rather the second thing he had learned from the Half-Blood Prince's potions book was a little charm called Muffliato. It was very useful, if you did not wish to be overheard, and he cast it on his bed because he could never be sure what came out of his mouth as he slept. Towards the end of Occlumency lessons the previous year, before he saw his dad taunting Severus in the Pensieve, he had called out Severus's name during a pretty disturbing fantasy and had to blame it on Voldemort torturing the professor when Ron had asked about it the next morning.

Harry reasoned with himself that Snape was not the type normal people fantasized about. No one really wants to find out if that hair is really greasy, or if large noses really mean large – Harry winced as he suddenly found his pajama bottoms were too constricting. He pulled out his potions book again. There had to be a potion to cure yourself of unwanted thoughts. At this rate, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were going to be hell, but at least his detention had been postponed by a week.

_How could he think there would ever be a time that Severus did not see him as James Potter's son or Sirius Black's godson?_ The only thing Harry was grateful for was that Severus did not give him special treatment because he was the Chosen One. Harry was sick to death of that new status. He had never had to fend off so many girls, and if truth be told, he did not realize how many gay boys were enrolled at the school either. Snape had caught him trying to spurn the advances of a Slytherin seventh year boy, and since it seemed to be a year of records, he gave the boy the Saturday's detention that Harry would be missing and took away twenty points from his own house. To Harry's amazement, Snape had even gone so far as to ask Harry if he was alright.

 

_Harry was standing just outside the door to Snape's office. It was not quite six o'clock according to his watch, but he had no real desire to knock on the door._

_"Potter, I will not accept tardiness, even from the_ Chosen One _, even if it is just detention. I think we'll have to add another one, to see if we can improve your timekeeping skills," Snape said, opening the door when Harry knocked at one past six._

_Harry glared as he walked past Snape and entered the office. A crate, cauldron, and assortment of jars stood waiting at a work table in the corner. "You know, it would be easier if you just waved your wand over the stuff and had done with it," Harry said, waving his hand over the table. To his horror, seven jars were suddenly filled with the perfect balance of solution from the cauldron and specimens from the crate._

_"Finally! Wandless magic!" Severus said, delight in his voice. He pointed at the shelf, and the jars moved to take their place._

_Harry looked up at Severus and found a smile on his face. "Sir, I thought wandless magic was banned by the ministry."_

_Snape raised an eyebrow. "So, you think the Dark Lord won't use it because it is banned? As you have finished the task I was going to set you, and we still have three hours, I plan on putting them to good use. I think we'll explore your abilities with wandless magic."_

_By nine o'clock, Snape claimed Harry was ready to try dueling. So they stood, each facing the other in the center of the room, about ten feet between them. Before the professor could react, however, Harry stalked across the room to stand directly in front of him. Green met black, both shocked as their lips met and Harry found another benefit of wandless magic. Their clothes disappeared – literally – and Harry was laid out on the now empty work table, watching his Professor through hooded eyes as the older wizard filled him with his very well endowed manhood._

_"Severus!" Harry yelled as he felt the ultimate pleasure consume him._


	3. Unwanted Advice

Harry felt a warm, wet substance fill the boxers he wore under his pajama pants. He bolted upright in bed. The old potions book was on his pillow, opened to Amortensia. The Prince had adorned the page with lilies. On the facing page was the potion to counter the effects of Amortensia. He hungrily read the instructions, if he started working on it now, it would be ready by the beginning of June. Before he looked at the ingredients, however, the Prince had noted that it did not work on true infatuation, true love, or true obsession. He shook his head, using Scourgify on his pants. He put the book away, turned over, and tried his best to go back to sleep.

_Saturday, September 7, 1996_

Harry was stunned as he left Dumbledore’s office late Saturday night. _How was he expected to keep everything a secret when any competent Legilimens could read him like an open book, especially Voldemort, who did not even have to be in the same country?_ He could see it would be like the Ministry incident all over again. _Who would Voldemort take this time?_ It was no wonder that the only Order member who wanted anything to do with him was Dumbledore, the one person Harry was pretty sure Voldemort could not get. “But what about his hand?” Harry wondered aloud, just steps away from the portrait of the Fat Lady behind which was the secret entrance to Gryffindor tower.

Hermione and Ron were alone in the common room, waiting for him; he lost no time in swearing them to secrecy before telling them all that Dumbledore had told him. After picking apart the many details of the lesson, he could tell they were still concerned. Hermione was chewing her lip, as if trying to bite back her words, afraid of hurting or angering him. Ron pretended to be working on the essay he had been putting off all week, surreptitiously glancing at Harry before giving Hermione pointed looks trying to prod her on. They also seemed to be concerned about his lack of skills with Occlumency. He could tell by the expression on their faces.

Under the table, Ron nudged her knee with his own. “Oh! Harry, if only you had learned Occlumency properly,” Hermione began.

Harry raised a hand to stop her rant. “I’m sure Voldemort,” Ron dropped his ink bottle at the sound of his name and Harry gave him an annoyed look. “I am sure HE has better things to do right now than to spy on my history lessons with Dumbledore. And I am trying. Do you think I want a repeat of what happened last year? Do you think I could bear it if I lost anyone else?”

Ron was mopping up the ink and glaring at Harry. “Do you have to use that name? For all we know, he knows when you use it and takes that as a good time to give a listen to what we’re saying about him.”

Hermione seemed to consider his objections and then shook her head. “If that were true, Ron, Voldemort would be in Harry’s head all the time. Besides that, Harry gets a migraine whenever Voldemort barely touches his thoughts, surely we’d notice Harry wincing or rubbing his scar all the time.”

Harry seemed skeptical as he looked at both of them. Ron looked to be grasping for evidence against Hermione’s claim. “That dream, last year, when he was torturing Snape, you didn’t complain of a headache then,” Ron said. He jumped out of his chair to stand between them, looking at Harry for support.

Harry was looking very startled at Hermione. She had cocked her head to the side, as if adding this new evidence into her theory. Harry had not told her of the dream, which was suspicious enough. If Snape had been tortured, he would never have admitted it. She looked at Harry, and he had the sneaking suspicion that she was trying to read his thoughts. He would not put it past her to try to use Legilimency, so he quickly looked away. From the corner of his eye, he saw her smiling knowingly at him. “As you said, Ron, it was a dream. Why would You-know-who torture Snape. He thinks the professor is on his side, remember?”

Harry sighed, realizing just how much she did not understand about how Voldemort worked. “He tortures everyone, Hermione. He does it to make sure that he has your unwavering devotion, even while in pain. It’s kinda smart, really. If your devoted followers can handle your torture of them and still remain loyal, then they will not break under torture from his enemies.”

“Perhaps, you should ask Professor Dumbledore to add Occlumency lessons to your Voldemort lessons,” Hermione suggested. Harry nodded, more to change the subject than anything else.

“So, when you holding Quidditch tryouts?” Ron asked as they headed up to the dormitories.

“Saturday morning. I figure I need to do something fun before I have to face Snape’s detention.”

 

Harry could scarcely remember when a week felt longer than this one did. More than once, he took some dreamless sleep potion to stop himself from fantasizing about Snape. Stress was weighing him down. He could not manage nonverbal spells, concentrate in class, and still try to keep suppressed the information Dumbledore had given him during their lesson. By the end of the day, he was fried both physically and mentally. The amount of homework they were given was astounding, and even the free periods during the day were not enough to give him an easy evening. He could not imagine how he was going to add Quidditch to his busy schedule, but as he was Captain, he had no choice. It was affecting his mood as well, and he could see that his friends were strained to be in his company. Even Hagrid seemed to be avoiding him, probably because of the fact that he had not continued studying Care of Magical Creatures, but he knew that there was no way he could handle another class. He often wondered how Hermione bore up her two extra classes, knowing that they were harder than his were as well.

By Friday morning, he was exhausted and knew he would fail miserably at whatever task Snape would set them today. He partnered with Ron, they were to work some more on nonverbal hexes and defense. While he waited for the jinx he knew would never come, he found himself watching the billowing black robes as they weaved around the pairs of students, and wondered how a man so full of hate could simply float as if he was walking on air. He was so lost in his thoughts; he missed the black eyes that were fixed on him, sans their usual scowl.

 

_Saturday, September 14th, 1996_

“Professor, I’d like to ask you for a favor,” Harry said, shortly after arriving for his Saturday detention.

“This is detention, Potter, not a friendly tête- à -tête. . . .”

Harry fought against his nerve. “I want to learn Occlumency, Sir,” he said in a rush, interrupting Snape mid-rant.

The professor raised an eyebrow; Potter’s green eyes were staring directly into his own. “You are having extra lessons with the Headmaster this year, as well as the task of fulfilling the duties of Quidditch captain for your house, what makes you think you have time for Occlumency? Even better, why not ask the Headmaster to include Occlumency in your lessons with him?”

Harry blinked and looked to the ground; he hated how the professor seemed to be parroting Hermione. He did not want Professor Dumbledore to gain access to his mind. He did not think it would be wise for the Head to have that much on him. He was sure that Dumbledore knew more than Harry expected, but he did not want to see that look in Dumbledore’s eyes, the look that Snape had given him once when he encountered a particularly horrible moment with the Dursleys. It was pity, and he did not want that from Dumbledore. From Snape, however, it had become something that both could identify with, and he found he did not mind the thought of Snape helping him, learning more about him, perhaps growing closer to him. Neither of them had a family outside the school, and the little that they did have rejected them because of who they were.

“It is because of Professor Dumbledore’s extra lessons that I want to learn Occlumency.” He raised his eyes back to Severus’s kohl ones and continued. “I trust you, since you did not use my memories against me last year, and I’ve told no one what I saw in the Pensieve. It made me sick to see the way my father treated you, just because Sirius was bored.” Harry let his mind wander to that day, to what it did to him after Severus had banished him from this very office, and how he wanted but did not dare try to come back. He needed Severus to understand, to know that it was not right, and he found no pleasure in that perverse memory.

Severus sneered, trying hard to not be touched by what Potter was so freely broadcasting that it did not take an accomplished Legilimens to see it. “I don’t want, or need, your pity, Potter.”

Green eyes hardened, so much like Lily’s had at the word Mudblood, and Severus was taken aback. Hidden deep in the James-like exterior were Lily’s eyes and Lily’s heart. “It’s not pity. I am just not going to tell the school about your horrible embarrassment at the hands of my father and his friends. I expect Mum would not want me to, and besides, you get so little respect anyway, who am I to undermine it altogether?”

Severus closed his eyes to those passion-filled ones. “If you truly want Occlumency lessons, you will seek me out, after the hours I normally hold detention. The number of times you have snuck out of the dorms before now, you should have no problems making it to my office.” He conjured a list of the nights he was on Hall Duty. “These are the dates when I cannot accommodate you, and my Sundays are sacrosanct, but with enough notice I could work you into my schedule. If you put in the effort, I will teach you. But the same warning as before, you must practice as much as possible. Remember, Potter, if I do not detect an effort on your part to practice, then I will call off the lessons entirely, no matter how much you hound me.

“Now, I believe you are here for a detention, not to take over my life.”


	4. Mead Makes for a Happy Grump

_Monday, September 16th, 1996_

Harry found himself sneaking down to Snape's dungeon on Monday night. It was well past ten, it had been hard to shake Ron off, but he made it undetected thus far and was about to knock when the door opened and Professor Slughorn stepped out. "I still don't understand Potter's past marks in Potions, Severus. He has yet to fail to make anything I have set; perhaps your bias for your own house had caused you to score him low?"

Harry could see Snape's murderous expression and wondered why Professor Slughorn was not cringing away from it. _Perhaps Snape used it often as a student as well?_ Harry was amazed at the control Snape had over his tone of voice when he spoke. "Believe me, Horace; I do not understand his incompetence either. Before now, Potter had never put much effort in potions and put a whole lot more effort in defying me. That was why he scored so low during my tenure as his professor. He never seemed to want to learn anything I could have taught him." He paused, and his nostrils flared as if he had caught the scent of something new. "But thank you, anyway, for the drink. Perhaps the next time you decide to offer me a drink, we could discuss a less controversial topic."

Snape held the door open and seemed to be watching Slughorn leave. "Get inside," he whispered once Slughorn was out of earshot and Harry scrambled to comply.

He sniffed his clothes, wondering what had tipped the professor off to his presence, perhaps it was the patchouli in the aftershave he used now that he was shaving on a daily basis. Girls seemed to like it, but the reason he got it was that the apothecary had told him it could do wonders for his headaches. "I hope you don't mind, Sir. I thought – well I can come back tomorrow if now is not a good time." Harry could not help but see the debris from Slughorn's visit. There was a half empty box of the aged professor's favorite, Crystallized Pineapple, and two bottles of Madam Rosemarta's Spiced Meade, one full and one half empty. To Harry, it looked to be a bit more intimate than a friendly – what had Snape called it? – _tête-à-tête_ between colleagues. Jealousy rose up from somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, and there was an unbidden urge to close the door and find a way of marking Severus as his.

Snape frowned, hearing an uncharacteristic growl roll from Harry's throat as the teen gawped at the table. He waved a wand over the scene, causing the empty to refill and all to seal itself. The spell broken, Harry now watched with awe as it all flew from the table to the door that Harry could only assume led to the private parts of Snape's rooms. The door opened a crack, just enough for the parcels to fly through, and Harry tried to catch a glimpse of what was beyond the door when Snape moved to stand between Harry and the door.

Potter blinked, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden change in his field of view. "Potter, have you ever considered getting your eyes fixed?" Snape said with frustration in his voice. "You could get rid of those infernal glasses."

Harry shook his head. "No. Dumbledore wore glasses at my age, and so did my Dad."

Severus used the wand he still held in his hand to swipe the offending glasses off with a casual flick of his wrist. "And just how vulnerable are you at this moment? Professor Dumbledore has," he was interrupted by Harry.

Harry could not believe what Snape was doing, taunting him about a dumb pair of glasses when they were supposed to be working on Occlumency. Still, it was strange for Snape to bother to look that closely at him to be annoyed by the things. He must not like to see his face reflected back in the twin mirrors he knew the lenses became when hit just right by the light. "Accio glasses!" Harry yelled and they zoomed back to his face.

Severus shook his head. He muttered something Harry could not discern under his breath, it almost sounded like a chant, and a golden mist left the tip of the professor's wand. It settled itself over Harry's head, and he could feel the warmth of the spell affecting his eyes. Briefly blinded by the spell and the mist, Harry's other hyper-alert senses kicked in. He could smell mead, a faded mishmash of the smells of many potion fumes, the scent of parchment and ink, and a uniquely musky scent that was interwoven with a floral scent. He inhaled deeper; trying to isolate the last scent pair, feeling it was vaguely familiar. Long, slender fingers gently removed the glasses from his face and he could feel tiny tremors where those fingers accidentally brushed his skin.

The warmth, the smell, and his glasses were gone all too soon. He opened his eyes and looked about, but Snape appeared to be gone too. His glasses, he could quite clearly see, were on the desk. Under the door deeper into the professor's sanctum, he could see a strip of light. As he moved closer, the door was revealed to be not fully closed, so he ventured in. He told himself that it was only to thank the professor for fixing his eyes before he departed. He pocketed the glasses, noticing that the prescription was gone and the lenses were lighter, so no one would have to know he could see without them.

There was a short hall, and there were three doors, all of which stood open. The one to the left had a lavatory, the one directly opposite at the other end of the hall showed the closed, green brocade curtains of the professor's four poster bed, and the door to the right showed shelves of potions and preserved ingredients. This had to be Severus's private laboratory. He could hear muttering and the clinking of glass from this one. This was where Severus had retreated.

"Professor? Sir? I just thought, perhaps. Well, maybe it would be better if I came back on Wednesday?" He asked, poking his head into the room.

"That won't be necessary, Potter. I just sought to remove the effects of too much mead before we continue," Snape said. He found the vial he had been looking for, reaching out his hand to pick it up.

Harry ran to step between the professor and the bottle. "You are not drunk, and I don't mind being able to see you without my glasses. I've never seen you so relaxed, and since I'm not so nervous anymore, I think,-"

He felt the alcohol-tinged breath whisper across his lips before the professor moved in. The kiss, unlike Cho Chang's, was not salty with tears nor was it tentative and awkward. He closed his eyes, giving over to the kiss. A tongue brushed against his lips and he parted them, allowing it entry into his mouth. He could now taste traces of honeyed liquor and pineapple, and he deepened the kiss, wanting more.

Severus's eyes flew open as he felt Harry's arms encircle his neck and the boy drew himself closer. He knew he had to pull away; he had to end this now, or at least before it went any further. His hands reached up, intending to remove Harry's hands from his neck, when the boy shifted and he was forced to sit on his worktable. Harry climbed it to straddle him. His hands slid down Harry's arms, down his back to his waist, pulling him closer and Harry whimpered. Breaking the kiss for air, he whispered, "Severus," before moving in again.

"Severus, Old Chap, I simply cannot leave it the way we did," Slughorn's voice carried down to them and Harry broke away from him, smiling devilishly as he flipped the sobering potion over to the potions master and then disappeared under the cloak.

"See you on Wednesday, Sir," he whispered as he walked past the dazed professor and made his way back to the dormitories. Kissing Cho had never felt that good. The stirring in his gut that Cho had caused was nothing to the way he was feeling right now. He wished Slughorn had not returned, but was also scared to think what might have happened if he had not. The professor's hair was no longer greasy, and his lips, the way he kissed was rather nice. He knew he would have to face the consequences of tonight on Wednesday, especially for calling him Severus.

Severus downed the entire contents of the vial, crossing over to the sink to splash his face with water and sort himself out before going out to Horace, who was sitting in his formal office.

His colleague had a stack of parchment in his lap, fidgeting with the corners as he waited for Severus to appear. He stopped, pulling two phials from his pocket. They were sealed and in stasis, one clear and one a light purple. He held the clear phial up, and a telltale pink hue swirled to acid green. He shuddered at the evident potency of the draught, his mind set on destroying the potion after he spoke to Severus.

"Have you come back to poison me?" Severus asked with an obvious tone of amusement in his voice.

"He produced that his first day," Horace said. He held up the other phial for Severus to see. "This was the second best of that day, produced by Hermione Granger. It was what I expected to see, pale violet, not quite done. Can you imagine? He produced a cauldron full of one of the most powerful poisons that the ministry allows us to teach. Only Miss Evans, his mother, ever came closer – except for you – and both of yours were still a pinkish-purple."

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the phial, taking it in hand so he could see the swirling green for himself. Potter's potions were usually mediocre at best, and here was an exceptional brew of a potion that if brewed by the book would require an additional hour to be as clear as the sample in Horace's hand. He would pull the answer from Potter's head. There was no way the boy could have known – _surely, he could not have done this by chance._ "I have spoken all I care to about the Chosen One. I am glad he is putting forth an effort for you that he never condescended to give my instruction, in anything I endeavored to teach." Severus looked at the phial again. "Perhaps you would not mind if I kept this, as a lesson in humility?"

Horace crinkled his face in a bit of frustration. "Well, I guess that would be alright. Minerva told me that Potter would not have been allowed in your N.E.W.T. class. I find that quite shocking. Have you never heard of a late bloomer?"

Severus closed his eyes, willing the pretentious windbag to shut up. He let his mind wander back to that kiss which never should have been allowed to happen. For that, he was grateful for Slughorn's interruption. If he allowed Potter the liberty, he knew he could get lost in the Chosen One's desires.

"– a whole new generation of Sluggies. Do you think he'll join?"

Now Snape remembered why he had drunk so much mead. "The Headmaster and Mr. Potter are on much closer terms that I. Minerva is his head of house. As it is after midnight, and I’d rather be getting to bed, if you insist on prattling on about Harry Potter, I suggest you seek either of them out, or even the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas. I for one am sick of the subject, and I must insist that you leave. Good night, Professor."


	5. The Wizard and the Bard

_Wednesday, September 18th, 1996_

Severus skipped dinner on Wednesday. He scheduled no detentions and graded all the papers he received from his D.A.D.A. classes that week. Potter did know about Defense, he had to admit. By eight, he was done, dozing in his chair, dreaming about green eyes and a lightning scar, awakening parts of him he had long forgotten. He forced his eyes open, chiding himself for thinking about an underage wizard like that. He decided to take a long, hot shower to relieve some of his tension. Potter could not be allowed to manipulate him like that again.

Harry sat quietly, invisible and unnoticed, in a corner of Snape's office. Having decided it would be easier to wait until the appointed time to show himself to the professor, he decided he would try to work on his homework, or read some more of the Prince's book. It really only mattered to him that here he was away from the crush of people who wanted a piece of _the Chosen One_.

When Snape had walked in, during the time Harry had expected him to be at dinner, the teen expected to be thrown out. He thought the unusual behavior was caused by wards that the professor had in place to announce intruders to his domain, but as Severus did not even cast about the room for an unseen intruder, Harry figured he was safe. Still, he was distracted by the presence of the adult, and found that watching the professor work seemed to hold more fascination for him than even the Half-Blood Prince did. He moved to an empty chair by the fire shortly after the professor had moved to the larger, plush chair that was across from it. He, too, felt the pull of sleep, and curled up in his chair, cocooning himself in his father's cloak and waited. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of the shower. He cast the tempus spell and found it was near nine o'clock. He rose from his chair, stowing the cloak in his pocket as he took Snape's chair, turning it so he would be visible when the professor emerged from the hall. He smiled, hearing a melodic, baritone voice rise over the sound of the water, singing a sweet song.

 _Under the greenwood tree,_  
Who loves to lie with me,  
And turn his merry note  
Unto the sweet bird's throat,  
  
Come hither, come hither, come hither:  
Here shall he see No enemy  
But winter and rough weather.  
  
Who doth ambition shun  
And loves to live i' the sun,  
Seeking the food he eats  
And pleased with what he gets,  
  
Come hither, come hither, come hither:  
Here shall he see No enemy  
But winter and rough weather.[1] __

Severus donned the bottoms of his silk pajamas and picked up the robes he had taken off as he left the bathroom. He headed toward his bedroom and pulled his hair back in a ribbon tied at the base of his skull before he pulled on his dressing gown. He was tying it at the waist as he went to check on his office. Harry stood as he entered the room. "Potter, you're early."

"You have no idea. That was a beautiful song. Tell me, Sir, who is the love you long to lie with under the greenwood tree?" Harry asked. He drew his wand and pointed it at the usually more guarded professor. "Legilimens!"

Harry was surprised as he was shown images of himself through Severus's eyes. First, there was concern about Albus leaving him to face the challenges to get to the Philosopher's stone alone. He saw Severus pacing nervously outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom as he could hear himself opening the chamber inside. He saw, reflected in the moonlight, Severus's concerned eyes as he put him on a stretcher and held his hand as the rest floated before them to the castle. The guilt that colored his face as the Minister met them in the entrance hall puzzled Harry, as he saw Severus let him go before anyone could notice the touch. He saw himself perform each task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament in full, life-threatening detail. The scenes not readily available to the crowd had been imagined in very graphic, horrific, and scarily almost accurate detail, as if Snape had been right beside him the entire time. He saw Severus sneaking back after being ordered to Lord Voldemort's side, the tears in his eyes as he entered the empty hospital wing. Moody stirred briefly, nodded in acceptance before rolling over to go back to sleep. Severus silently crept over to where he was, casting a charm on the sleeping Molly before he took his hand, and whispered words of love and encouragement as he slept. He saw Snape giving Hermione the Murtlap Essence disguised as Lee Jordan. He was nearly caught by Lee and the twins as he headed back to the dungeons. Harry had to laugh at this, because it did explain Hermione's confusion when Harry said he had to recommend the potion to Lee. He saw Snape read his thoughts, as he had intended, in Umbridge's office that horrible night they lost Sirius, and heard the frustration in the Potion Master's mutterings as he retreated to his quarters. He saw the man pacing before the fire in this sitting room, a carriage clock that Harry had never seen before was hovering before him, though he seemed to have charmed the face off. He stopped pacing and breathed a sigh of relief when Madam Pomfrey's head appeared in his fire requesting assistance and potions for Ron Weasley, as the Headmaster was in conference with Harry Potter in his study. He saw the kiss from two nights ago, shocked by how well Severus remembered it, shocked by his own boldness, and he reveled in knowing that it had not just happened because the professor had been drunk, but that Severus had wanted to kiss him because he was Harry.

He felt Severus push against their connection, fighting to turn Harry back into his own head, before following him there. They were both witnessing the dream he had late last night, a vision of being in the room at the other end of the short hall, laid out on green satin with Severus's weight pressing him into eiderdown as their mouths mated and long, slender fingers stroked his skin, everywhere. Harry felt his body stirring and did not want Severus to witness this. He felt himself push the professor out of his mind, which at once became clear as the room came back into focus.

Both men knelt on the floor, breathing hard from the force of the mental battle. Shock was evident on the professor's face, as was a bit of annoyance. Harry's face conveyed arrogance and pride at finally being successfully able to keep the professor from reading his mind like an open book. This caused the older man's expression to sober, returning to his customary glare. "Potter, just because you drove me out once is no reason to get cocky."

Taken aback, Harry looked curiously into Severus's eyes. He did not understand Severus at all. Was the snarky git ever able to pay a compliment? Sure, he only barely occluded him once. Surely, the fact that he was able to penetrate the normally guarded mind should be worth something. He frowned, sitting back on his feet.

Severus wanted to devour the vision of innocence before him. There was the boy's lower lip, pushed out slightly almost in a pout. There were the boy's eyes, wide in an obvious expression of bewildered innocence. There were the boy's clothes that were overly large with rolled sleeves and a too wide neckline that made the teen look even younger than his petite form already made him. Finally, there was the boy's hair that was naturally teaseled to look as if he had just been thoroughly ravished. Not liking his own state of dress, given the turn his thoughts had begun to take, his public persona, the one he had adopted to keep himself alive, surged forward.

"There is no doubt that the Chosen One wants praise for catching me unawares and raping my mind I suppose. Perhaps we should hold a feast in your honor. We'll make banners marking the day the Chosen One bested the Dungeon Bat. What would you like?" Severus held out his hand, wordlessly summoning his wand as he rose to his feet. He pointed it down at Harry, who was looking up at him. "Legilimens!"

He saw a flurry of colors before he was forced out as Harry surged to his feet, severing the connection completely.

A genuine smile filled the Potion Master's face. "Yes, Potter, that is Occlumency." He cleared his throat, as his voice was suddenly husky with desire. "You should go now."

"Sev-" Harry whimpered, trying to move closer.

Severus took one step back before standing his ground. He held up his wand arm, pointing it at the advancing teen, who stopped just barely an inch away from his wand's tip. Control back in his voice, he once again had his mask in place. "You are not thinking clearly, Potter. You are confused by my behavior of Monday last and by your own curiosity, one I may add that is perfectly natural at your age. I, however, am not a young man. I am an adult and old enough to be your father."

Eyes alight with a fiery rage, mixed with the passionate emotions of before, adding a confusion that just added to the flames. "It all comes back to my Father, doesn't it? I'm James Potter's son so I must be just as cocky, just as arrogant, just as cruel, since I look just like him. I could have no real interest in Snivellus. I am just trying to play a prank to humiliate you, right?" Harry stowed his own wand in his pocket then pushed Severus's arm back down to his side, advancing once again. His green eyes never left the endless depths of the obsidian ones before him. "Tell me, Snivellus, if I were going to play a prank, why would I force myself to be alone with you? No one, not even Ron or Hermione, knows I am down here, with you. I am completely at your mercy. This, my presence here, is for me, not because Albus Dumbledore decreed it. I am here because I want to be here. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you." He stopped and they were now barely a breath apart. "I find that I liked it, and I want to do it again."

Severus cast a nonverbal shield charm. "Go! Potter! Before you force me to do something we'll both regret!"

Harry moved forward and the force of the charm send him flying backwards, slamming against the door in an impact so hard that it shook and the younger man's head bounced off the hard wood. Harry cried out in pain as he slid to the floor. "But what about what I saw?" he asked, meekly, between sobs. "You want me just as much as I want you, Severus. Admit it!"

Severus crossed the room in three long strides, scooping the injured boy up into his arms, hugging him to his chest briefly allowing this one momentary lapse in his normally impenetrable shield. He carried him to the settee, where he sat with the Seeker in his lap. He murmured the spell to heal the wound, resisting the urge to run his fingers along the newly healed scalp, well, maybe just to make sure it was all healed. He winced as Harry moaned in pleasure at the touch. "Don't you understand, no matter what I want, nothing can happen between us?"

Harry nodded. "I understand that nothing SHOULD happen between us, not that nothing COULD happen." Harry took hold of the hand still clutching Severus's wand and reached up to caress the professor's face with his other hand. He moved up, inching closer for a kiss, and smiled inwardly as the professor allowed the kiss, perhaps as a token of achievement for successfully blocking his mind, twice.

Kisses, as an incentive, worked wonders for Harry's concentration. He left the dungeons hidden beneath his father's cloak shortly before one o'clock the next morning. His lips were swollen from kisses, his brain hurt from the near constant bombardment from Severus and the effort it took to block him, and there was a bulge in his pants that was aching to be touched. He aimed for the Prefect's bath to do just that.

He was so distracted by his need that he did not notice the Grey Lady roaming the fifth floor until he ran right through her. The cold was an instant, albeit temporary, solution to his problem, so he decided he would go back to the tower. The ghost, frightened by the unseen body she had passed through, did a wild pirouette before descending through the floor.

 

Ginny Weasley sat unnoticed in a dark corner of the Gryffindor common room, watching the fire slowly dying in the hearth. She saw the portrait hole open to admit someone under an invisibility cloak, as evident by the white trainer that was visible for the briefest moment. She held her breath as the portrait swung shut, her eyes roved over to the mantle clock. It was nearly two in the morning.

Harry removed the cloak as he laid out on one of the couches. He groaned, stretching like a cat before bunching up the shimmering cloth to pillow his head. He needed to sleep, but his raging hormones would not allow it. He knew he needed to calm down before he could rest. "Severus!" he groaned, punching the couch in frustration. "Why the fuck does he have to be so fucking noble?"

Ginny's eyes went wide as she overheard her crush's grumblings. She watched, with longing, as he settled down to sleep. She would use Professor Snape's nobility to her advantage. She would have Harry Potter for her own. She only felt a little sorry about using Dean to make him jealous, but he would be all right. She was certain that Dean would end up with Seamus anyway, seeing as he hardly spoke of anyone else. She waited until he was sleeping before returning to her room. The early risers and the ones just sneaking back would be there soon, and it would not do for rumors to start when nothing was happening with Harry. She knew that rumors would end any chance she had to claim the Chosen One.

_Saturday, September 21st, 1996_

Horace followed Severus as he left the staff table after breakfast. Few students had been in the Great Hall at that hour on a Saturday morning, so it had been very hard not to notice that the D.A.D.A. professor had spent much of the meal looking at a trio of Gryffindors, Harry's trio of Gryffindors to be precise. However, the thing Horace found surprising was the way the Chosen One was surreptitiously looking, too. He blushed whenever onyx met emerald, which was often followed by Severus being forced to adjust the way he sat.

Severus stopped as they exited the Hall. He turned to fix a glare at the Potions professor. "Is there something I can help you with, Professor?"

"Severus, my boy, I am no longer your teacher. You can call me Horace. I thought we could continue our conversation from the other night, now that cooler heads have prevailed. It would have to be without alcohol, of course, unless you wish to accompany me to the Three Broomsticks?"

The door behind them opened and Harry stormed out. "There is nothing wrong about it," he muttered before he noticed the two stationary men.

"Harry, my boy, how are you this morning?" Slughorn asked. He smiled pleasantly at the odd pair he was with, even as Harry seemed more self-conscious and Severus's face had relaxed and was even coloring slightly.

"Good morning, Professors. I'd stay and chat, but—"

"Harry, you have to admit that it is a little strange, if you truly think about it," Hermione said. She had followed Harry at a more sedate pace. She blushed upon seeing who he was standing with, “Morning, Professors,” she said. She reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist. "Perhaps we should consult the library."

"Bye, Professors," he managed to say as she pulled him away.

"I told you he was fine. Does he look like someone who was tortured only a few short hours ago?"

Horace looked back to Severus, "Tortured?"

Harry glanced back over his shoulder and winked at Severus. Severus could not help but remember the previous night’s lesson and how Harry had felt in his arms and rutting against him until they both had come in their pants. Severus wished that he was alone, rather than with the biggest busybody in the school, next to Dumbledore. "Tortured. Now, how about that drink in Hogsmeade? I could use the distraction and the change of scenery."

Rosemarta was practically beaming as she showed them to a table. "I am so glad you got him to leave the dungeons, Horace. Shall I expect to see more of the two of you?"

Severus blushed by her implications, but Horace just shook his head. "Sadly, m'dear, no. But when Albus returns, I'm sure we'll pop in for a drink." Horace pronounced with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

Severus looked incredulously at Horace, and waited until the bar matron departed before he asked. "You are dating Albus?"

"Again." Horace clarified. "It's been, well, I've been waiting generations for him to forgive my defending Tom Riddle to Headmaster Dippet. I fear he was correct, but still, it's been over fifty years."

Severus tried not to wince. The thought of Albus in bed with Slughorn was only slightly more distasteful than the time he had caught the Headmaster and then Auror Moody snogging in one of the castle's hidden passageways when he was a student.

"— older men are quite handy in bed."

Severus put down the goblet from which he was about to drink and glared at Horace. He wished he had not heard that part of the old professor’s soliloquy.

"Good morning, Professors. If you’re talking of older men, then you must be talking of our dear Albus," the gruff voice of the ex–Auror claimed Severus's attention.

"Please, Alastor, join us. Maybe you can get Severus to open up. According to our Harry Potter, Severus is being tortured, but the man won't open up about it." Horace said, rather lightly, and the Auror's not quite human eye looked over to the younger man, his roving eye resting on the hidden Dark Mark.

Severus met his natural eye and shook his head. "Mr. Potter apparently had a vivid dream that the Dark Lord was torturing my person last night. Miss Granger, however, believes – as does Potter – that it was just a simple dream, whereas Mr. Weasley suspects, due to the nature and volume of the sounds coming from Potter's bed, that I had indeed been molested last night." He finally took that much-needed drink. "The truth is much less glamorous than Mr. Weasley's imagining. I spent the majority of the night in the Hospital Wing with Poppy and a first year Slytherin girl, who was feeling very homesick."

He picked up Severus’s goblet and sniffed it before drinking from it. He refilled it from the bottle that Rosemarta had wisely left on the table. He grunted. "That could be torture, but it is better than nine months locked away in your own luggage with only a very smelly elf bringing you occasional meals to prevent starvation," Alastor said.

Horace looked at each of them before he asked for the details. Severus supplied the details of the goings on during Alastor’s confinement, and then Alastor supplied the details of the attack. By the end of the tale, Horace looked as if he had been hit by a stunning spell. "All those months and Albus did not realize that it was not really you."

Alastor shrugged. "I was supposed to keep my eye on Igor. Young Crouch did keep an ever-vigilant eye on ALL the Death Eaters at the school, and kept Potter safe. Albus and I had already agreed to not be intimate while I was supposed to be guarding his golden boy, but I agree he still should have known."

Severus spoke up. "Yes, he should have known, or maybe he knew. You know how he can be at times. He ignores the obvious either for the belief that everyone is inherently good, or to not arise suspicion so that the perpetrator thinks that they will succeed. Albus thought everything would happen on the grounds of Hogwarts, and did not anticipate anyone dying. Believe me; I complained more than once to him about the way Moody was that year."

Horace gazed thoughtfully into his own goblet of mead, swirling the contents as if divining a meaning from the amber colored liquid. He paused and looked up into the main part of the tavern at the door that just opened. Albus stood there, a blood red travelling cloak over deep blue velvet robes.

"Headmaster! How wonderful! I think the gentlemen you are looking for are in the corner over there," Rosemarta said as she greeted him at the door.

His eyes were twinkling as brightly as ever, they followed to the direction she was indicating and his already bright smile seemed to grow brighter. "Thank you, my dear, but I feel we are going to need a bit more privacy." He beckoned them with a gesture and thy all followed the bar matron up to the private parlor reserved for the faculty of Hogwarts to use.

Severus felt like he was very much the intruder once the door closed behind them. Albus greeted them each with a hug, but he could tell that the headmaster was working hard to hide his desire for the other two men, most likely to spare Severus the embarrassment of being there.

"I am a bit surprised to find you all here. Although, I am pleased, I'm also a bit concerned," Albus said. They were now seated at the table by the fire. "What brings you lot here? What could not be discussed on school grounds?"

The desire of the other three men was overwhelming, and Severus was beginning to wonder how he had never noticed it before. "I think I can clarify, Headmaster. There was a misunderstanding, no, a difference of opinion about my whereabouts last night among the golden trio. Horace asked me to accompany him for a drink, and I welcomed the distraction. Now, as I appear to be in the way, I'll take my leave so that you lot may shag 'til your hearts' content."

"Thank you, Severus. I'll join you for tea, later, to talk about your puzzling situation," Albus said. He barely waited for Severus to disappear into the Floo before he reached out to take his two lovers by the hand.

* * *

[1] From _As You Like It_ by William Shakespeare, Act 2 Scene 5


	6. Thoughts to Occupy the Mind During the Coitus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame _The Big Bang Theory_ and Dr. Sheldon Cooper for the title of this chapter.
> 
> WARNING! This is a look into the history of Tom Riddle, via the nice link Harry has to Voldemort's mind. So it may be long and rambling. I'm not sure if I put it in the warnings, but this is the first chapter that mentions it. There is non-consensual sex in this chapter, as well as hints of torture.
> 
> //parseltongue//

_Sunday, October 18th, 1996_

_He fingered the locket he had recently acquired, tracing the snake-like S that was emblazoned on the large golden object. He needed a place to go to ground for a while, somewhere that did not know him. He had no doubt that the Ministry would blame that old, dotty elf for her death; it was more the old bint's family he was wary of finding him. Claudius had married the woman's grandniece, so the Rosier Manor was out of the question, but where does one go when one has nowhere to be?_

_He appeared at the end of the block by an old town square. There were sheep milling about, drinking from the slow-running fountain as the shops around were closed and boarded up for the night. There was a tavern down the side street directly across the square from where he stood. He could hear the pleasant din and smell the ale and meat fare that would be offered and welcome should he venture there._

_He picked his way through the woolly crowd and made his way across the square to the noise and its promised sanctuary. There was an old wooden sign depicting a wolf's head and in large, dark letters were written Wolf's Bane Tavern. He shrugged at the strangeness, a tavern named for a wolf in a town so full of sheep. He felt at peace as he entered the cacophonous room._

_"Wot cher, Luv?" a buxom barmaid greeted him as he found an empty booth close to the back to claim._

_"Ale and whatever the cook has prepared for the night."_

_"Ooh! A Townie. Don't get many like you, Luv, 'ere in Nowhaer."_

_He almost laughed as she left, sauntering away. There was a mirror hanging above his booth, in which he straightened his honeyed brown hair, smoothing back the noisome forelock that always fell forward no matter what he did. The irises of his eyes had a small red rim around them, a bit more noticeable than the flecks that used to reside in his irises, but he was not concerned, it still went well with the chocolate brown, and his looks still drew admirers of each persuasion. He straightened his coat, fiddled with his lace cuffs, and tried to think about his next step._

_The door opened again, but the chimes did not sound. Everyone seemed to slow as three people turned his direction, two seated at the bar, one in the booth next to the door. Unnoticed by the suddenly still patrons, these three young men in long, black coats joined the fourth man who entered. He had white hair and his clothing would have been the court fashion in the 1850's. He wore a green, velvet frockcoat over a gold-embroidered, ivory, silk waistcoat and an ivory shirt and deep blue, velvet breeches with ivory stockings and black shoes with polished silver buckles. He carried an ebony cane carved with snakes all along the wood, each bearing shining emerald eyes. The tip of the cane was silver, fashioned to look like a crown and the pommel resembled the smooth head of a water serpent._

_//This is my land. Who are you, stranger?//_

_Tom's eyes narrowed as he heard the sibilant language from the old aristocrat._

_//Lord Voldemort, at your service, Sir. I have come only for a short stint on my travels. Who are you, Sir, that I may know my gracious host?//_

_With a small hand gesture, the other three wizards took their places and the tavern returned to normal speed. The barmaid returned, carrying his requested ale and plate of food, only hesitating a moment at the sight of the aristocrat._

_"Milord Prince, 'tis an 'onor," she said. She set the entire tray down before going into such a low curtsy cum bow that her ample bosom popped out over the low-cut bodice's tied neckline. She blushed prettily as he put the head of his cane under her chin, raising her face to look up at him._

_"Maleficent, isn't it? You're eighteen now, right?" He asked, seeming to charm her to her feet. The perfect globes were still exposed and dusky nipples hardened to stand proud before him. "My beautiful flower, untouched and ready to be plucked, I find it hard to wait until the morrow when we are wed." He drew the cane down, caressing each mound with its serpentine mouth, and the head of the staff moved, undulating as it coursed down, biting the engorged buds as she moved even closer still. "You'll give me the son your aunt could not," he said. His free hand at her stomach, as if willing the child to be conceived._

_She moaned, nodding as she moistened her lips, thrusting her hips forward at her sorcerer lord. Her hands reached out to touch him and he growled. "Cover yourself, you wanton whore. Enjoy your freedom now. You'll not leave my bed until you are with child."_

_Tom was mystified as Lord Prince took a seat across from him. //You marry Muggles?//_

_He shook his head. //No. My bride is Maleficent Selwyn, a Malfoy bastard. Her mother is the owner of this establishment. Her brothers, those three men, are my mother's brother's bastards. The twins at the bar are Marius and Malleus Selwyn. The gentleman at the door is Herodias Selwyn. I knew I should have married the whore rather than the chaste one.//_

_Tom took a draw from the flagon as he puzzled the family out that his host just explained. This man was lord Prince. He had only one daughter, Eileen. The ignorant chit at the bar was a Malfoy – Abraxas must love having such a lowly sibling. //None of them went to Hogwarts?//_

_He shook his head. //My daughter, Eileen, did. Those bastards went to Durmstrang. The girls were all home-schooled.// The old lord looked at what Tom was drinking as if it were all beneath his status. //Come, my friend, be my guest at my home. I have better libations and you must stay for the feast. My Eileen is a bit of a downer right now. She has refused a match I made for her by claiming she was to wed, of all things, a shop clerk. She has already missed becoming a Malfoy, and that Black is marrying his own cousin Black, but at this point I'd let her marry a Weasley. They aren't the most proud, but at least it would be a prominent pureblood family to take her off my hands.//_

_Tom hid his distain well at his host's words. They left for the manor house and Tom was lead into a warm parlour, where a portrait of what looked like the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady in bridal dress hung above the mantle. Her stomach was round, she was obviously pregnant, and the baron in the portrait wore the locket that now resided on the chain around Tom's neck._

_//Yes, our oldest ancestors, next to their parents, Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw – and their spouses of course. I have no doubt you have heard the story, right? Slytherin's son married Ravenclaw's daughter. She went mad shortly after she gave birth to their twin daughters, and the Baron killed her in a jealous rage when he found her somewhere in Albania. Of their daughters, one married into the Gaunt family, the other married into the Prince family, and both had to cope with knowing that their father killed their mother.//_

_Tom's eyes went wide, he had not heard it told like that. The story he had heard, from the ghosts themselves, was very different. //So that is how you can speak it.//_

_//Yes. It is rare in our family, unlike the Gaunts. We don't have a family twig. Our family tree is full and diverse. Unfortunately, it will die out with me. I am the last, until Maleficent produces my son.// The old aristocrat pointed to the locket on Tom's chest. //You, sir, are a mystery. I have never heard the name Voldemort. The last I had heard, Merope married a Muggle named Riddle.//_

_Eileen had chosen that opportune moment to inter the room, green robes billowing around her as she moved a tiny elf with a tray in her wake. "Papa, are you here? Tinsy seems to think you have a guest." She froze as both men turned from the fire to look at her. She put a hand over her heart, closing it around the moonstone amulet Tom had given her just after he started working for Borgin and Burkes. "Tom," she sighed, sinking into the chair that Tinsy barely managed to get under her._

_Lord Prince shook his head. "Useless chit, this is Lord Voldemort, and he will be our guest until my wedding feast is over. Feed him and then show him to one of the bachelor's quarters. I'm going to rest; else your step-mother will be the death of me."_

_She waited until he was gone before she looked at her fiancé. More of his boyish features were gone than the last time he had visited her and given her the amulet. His eyes looked harsher, they seemed to tell of death, but he was still her Tom. He left the hearth, where he had been staring at the portrait of the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady, taking a seat on the settee._

_“You don’t seem happy about your new step-mother.”_

_She moved to sit beside him. “She was three when I entered Hogwarts. Mum died in childbirth over Easter hols seventh year, Seth followed her two days later.” She served him a tray, filling the silence with all that he missed once he left school, the controversy over Dumbledore and Grindelwald, the suitors she turned away. She told him of the difficulty of returning home and having to deal with the wives that did not live past their first pregnancy – eight years and eight step-mothers._

_“So, do the Knights call you Voldemort now?” she asked as she led him down the hall of the east wing._

_“My dear, the oldest of them do. I quit the shop. I’m going abroad for a while.”_

_She looked hurt that he was leaving her behind yet again, but it quickly passed. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”_

_She let him slake his lust in her over the course of his weeklong stay. No strings attached, he released her from their engagement, knowing she might be wed when he was able to satiate the wanderlust that controlled him._

Harry felt quite depressed when he awoke. The dream had been strange. He had run the full gamut of emotions: loss, fear, desire, lust, isolation, and he wondered why Voldemort was remembering that woman. As usual, the memories started leaving his mind as he became more awake. He jotted down a few details in the Muggle journal Severus had given him, complete with a dozen biros, for such purposes. All he got was Nowhere, Wolf’s Bane Tavern, Maleficent Malfoy, wedding, Eileen Prince. It was strange that Voldemort would be thinking about his past on the eve of the lesson that Harry would have with Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps, if there was time, he would mention it during their lesson the next night or not since the Headmaster did not want him to have any connection with Voldemort’s mind. He sighed as he cast the Tempus spell. It was around 4:30 in the morning, a bit early to get up, but at least he would have the showers to himself.

Severus gingerly lifted the scaled arm that held him to the bed. Red satin sheets on his stomach were a great contrast to the hard, snakeskin covered body that half covered his back. Mercifully, the only parts of that being that were not covered in scales were the man’s face, the palms of his hands, the pads of his feet, and his overly endowed genitals. Severus silently thanked Circe that this last part was still limp and Severus tried not to move too much against it as he worked to free himself.

“Where do you think you are going, little Prince?” the high, nasally voice asked. The scaled arms and legs once again pinned him to the eiderdown bed. The overlarge cock easily finding its way into Severus’s over used and torn hole. “I’m not through using you yet.”

Severus groaned and screamed as cuts and bruised flesh was brutalized once again, and to add to his torment, the Dark Lord cast a wandless Cruciatus curse at him so he would tighten around his invading cock and writhe in agony, heightening the sadist’s pleasure, and he climaxed, injecting the potions master with his venomous cum.

He climbed off the man, watching as a mixture of blood, excrement, and cum leaked out from the gaping hole. The potions master’s back was red and bleeding from the scales that had cut him and the bed was a darker red in an aura-like form around him. “Ah, Severus! You delight me so much better than the whore you called mother. You look so much better too, bleeding on my bed, open and ready for me. Are you satisfied, or should I summon someone else to play with you?”

“I desire only to please you, my Lord,” Severus managed to say, his voice raspy as his throat was sore from screaming.

“Then clean this all up before you leave. The sun has not yet risen so you have time.” He laughed as Nagini slithered from her side of the bed, uncoiling herself from Severus’s thighs and cock, her tail trailing out of his hole as she did so, and slithered over the still helpless Severus. //Come, Nagini, Severus is done playing today.//

Severus hid his face to hide his revulsion as the snake slithered over him and followed her master out of the room. He sat up, grateful that all the filth the Dark Lord had forced inside him was running out of the hole he could no longer control. He found he could not be revolted by the stench of his own excrement and piss, he was beyond all that for the moment. He cast the cleaning spells on himself, the bed, his clothes, the bed, the ceiling, the walls, the bed. He hit the bed so many times with the spell that the sheets became threadbare and the eiderdown pillow top exploded, the feathers only contained by the sheets. He transfigured the pillow back to the carriage clock it had been, set it after casting the Tempus spell. He then used his wand to set the room to rights, once again dressed in black; he made his way to the outside of the anti-Apparition wards and appeared just outside the gates at Hogwarts.

Harry was looking at his father’s map. The stuff the twins had found, as well as all he knew, now appeared on the map – except the unknowable room of requirements. He focused on Snape’s private quarters, which were empty. Harry closed his eyes, waving his wand over the ancient looking parchment. He whispered, “Show me Severus Snape.”

There was a lone dot, no one else around it, just inside the gate and unmoving. Harry looked to the Headmaster’s office; Dumbledore was not there or in his private quarters. He could not go outside any of the entrances without alerting everyone, and he would not put it past Snape to give him detention even if he had only been out to help him.

‘He said not to bother him on Sundays,’ his mind reminded him.

“Technically, it is Monday,” he whispered to himself as he tugged on his trainers and pulled on his father’s cloak. He went to the window, summoning his Firebolt from the broom shed. He zoomed down from his tower window, not alerting anyone as those were not warded from people flying away, just jumping to their death. He landed lightly by the unconscious, prone professor. Fawkes landed beside him, crooning quietly, dropping a small, black pouch next to Harry.

“Lo, Fawkes,” Harry said in a sombrely as he pet the bird gathering strength from the reassuring heat and the soft light of the glowing fire that seemed to radiate from the bird. He opened the bag surveying its contents. It contained vials of potions labelled in Severus’s own hand, as well as a small scroll. The vials were labelled _Replere sangueri, Omnimedicari, Purgare toxicum, Skele-Gro, and Pepper Up.*_ The scroll had instructions on how to cast a diagnosis charm; how to staunch bleeding with a charm; how to set and bandage broken limbs; and how to conjure a stretcher. Harry performed the diagnostic spell, _Audio injuria adficere,†_ hoping he could understand the results. Unlike the ones a trained heeler uses, this one imprinted the symptoms in his mind: bleeding, bruising, fatigue, poisonous venom in a very small dose, the after effects of the Cruciatus curse, cuts and tearing of the skin. The labels of the potions he would need to use glowed as well. It had been Severus’s voice telling him the symptoms, and he knew that somehow this was all Severus’s stuff. He used the spell on the scroll first to stop the bleeding, _Sanguinem ecfundi cohibe,‡_ before helping Severus drink the potions in the order indicated on the labels: _Purgare toxicum, Omnimedicari, Replere sangueri._ He was so focused on the mouth and throat of the man now cradled in his lap, he failed to notice that onyx eyes were now studying him or that Fawkes had enclosed them in a protective bubble ensuring their safety and privacy.

_“Dolor recedet, pax tribuet, corpus purgatus et sanatus erit, surgere liberat et replenere, imperio,§”_ Severus mumbled. “Chant it, Potter. If that is too hard use _abaradacadabara**_.”

Harry thought it was still part of the diagnostic spell, so he looked back to the scroll. At the bottom was written _abrdcdbra_ and a wand pattern. Harry’s mouth formed a perfect O as he tried to sound it out in his head. Harry shook his head. “No, Professor, Avarda Kedavra would kill you! I won’t do that!”

Severus closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself against the pain. “Look at me, Harry. I trust you. Listen Carefully. Abaradacadabara. If you say it quickly, it becomes Abracadabra. Use that, Harry, if it is more a comfort. Once I am better, I promise I’ll give you the history of the curse. You won’t kill me.”

“Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey.” Harry pleaded.

“No! Harry! Please! Just you. Please don’t take me to her, just get me to my quarters and I’ll guide you through what I need. Do this, I’ll give 150 points to Gryffindor.”

Harry bent over him, kissing him quickly, infusing all his emotions in the one act before beginning to whisper, chanting against his lips, “Dolori recedit, pacis tribuet, corpus purgatus et sanatus erit, surgere liberat et replenere, imperio.”

The bliss of the spell awed Severus. It was so very powerful and almost freeing as his mind emptied and Harry filled it completely. Stand? No Problem. Walk? Easily done. As he felt the warm spray from the shower run along his body, still detached and under Harry’s control, he wondered if this blissful void was the subspace of which his last pet spoke.

* * *

* Replere sangueri: to replenish the blood, Omnimedicari: To heal everything, Purgare toxicum: To clear way toxins.

† Audio injuria adficere: I hear the extent of the injury.

‡ Sanguinem ecfundi cohibe: I limit the bleeding.

§ Dolor recedet, pax tribuet, corpus purgatus et sanatus erit, surgere liberat et replenere, imperio! He will be without pain, he will be given peace, his body will be cleansed and healed, I command you to rise, renewed and free.

** Abaradacadabara: the vocalization of the healing charm ABRDCDBRA.


End file.
